


Sleepless

by Flightless_Bird



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Death Threats, Established Relationship, Flirting, Fluff, Humor, Insomnia, Jim is a Little Shit, Language, M/M, PTSD mentioned, Pet Names, and very pissed off, glimpse into their life, it made me laugh, late night drabble, lol what are tags, maybe? - Freeform, of course, reference to violence, references to Sebastian’s past, sebastian is tired, sebastian tries to punch jim, tiny bit of violence, tiny hurt/comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 05:52:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14442768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flightless_Bird/pseuds/Flightless_Bird
Summary: “It wasn’t the first time he’d considered killing this man. As a matter of fact, it was the third time this week alone.James Moriarty, consulting criminal mastermind, was the definition of obnoxious.”





	Sleepless

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little thing I wrote for fun one night, thinking of how insufferable Jim could be when he’s sleep-deprived. Sebastian is not amused. 
> 
> Sorry if it’s a little rushed, I was sleep-deprived myself haha
> 
> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment to let me know what you liked, I’d love to hear feedback from you :3

Sebastian Moran was woken up at two-thirty am by his phone buzzing on the bedside table. There was only one person who ever contacted him. At two-thirty in the morning. He was already ticked off by the time he rolled over in bed and snatched the phone up, squinting to read it.

 

_Moran. I’m bored. JM._

 

“Goddamn psychopathic insomniac,” Sebastian muttered, voice sleep-weighted and groggy. Shifting onto his back, he rubbed at his blurry eyes and started to text back.

 

_What the fuck do you want_

 

He didn’t add a signature his texts. He knew it annoyed Jim sometimes, so that was reason enough.

 

_I want tea. JM._

 

Sebastian’s mouth dropped open in outrage. “I’m going to murder him,” he hissed under his breath.

 

_Are you seriously asking me to make you tea at two in the morning??_

_No. JM._

_I’m asking you to BUY me tea at two-THIRTY in the morning. You make terrible tea. JM._

_No._

_Seb. JM._

_NO._

_I’ll shoot you. JM._

_Good, an end to my miserable job working for an arrogant smartass._

_You’re lucky I tolerate you. JM._

_Get me tea. JM._

 

Sebastian let his head fall back against the pillow again, closing his eyes briefly. It wasn’t the first time he’d considered killing this man. As a matter of fact, it was the third time this week alone.

James Moriarty, consulting criminal mastermind, was the _definition_ of obnoxious.

 

_Fuck off._

_Watson would get Holmes tea. JM._

 

Oh my god.

 

_I couldn’t give less fucks about what Watson would do._

_Bastian. JM_

_Seb.JM_

_Honey? JM_

_Go to sleep, dont call me that_

_Colonel. JM._

 

Suddenly, Sebastian sat bolt upright, hand already reaching for the gun under his pillow. There was an understanding between them that a need for a code word was sometimes necessary. It meant that Jim was in imminent danger, whether from a hitman, officer, or any number of enemies that he had collected.

Gun in hand, Sebastian was out of bed and across the room in one swift movement. He didn’t bother with clothes—no time—and would have found it silly to be slinking around in his boxers, if Jim Moriarty wasn’t about to be murdered. The hallway was a haze of shadows, some indistinguishable from one another. Dim light filtered from a door two or three yards away and Sebastian quickly identified it as Jim’s office. Bare feet quiet on the hardwood, he hurried to just outside the door and paused. No noise came from within. He leaned forward and peered into the living room past the end of the hall. No lights on in there, no sign of movement or a break-in.

Shoulders tense, he whipped around the doorframe, gun aimed and ready to fire at the first sign of the intruder.

Instead of an armed gunman or assassin, he came face to face with Jim, smiling up at him from his desk chair. “Sebastian, how nice of you to join me!” he sang, hands laced casually over his stomach. He was still wearing a dress shirt and slacks, sleeves rolled up. His gaze skated over Sebastian’s figure and his eyebrows rose. “Is that _really_ all you sleep in? Makes moments like this rather awkward, don’t you think?”

Sebastian, unmoving from his trigger-ready stance, stared at him. The pieces were slowly sinking together. Anger began to build in his chest, but he tried to swallow it down. “Jim,” he said slowly, “are you about to be killed or not?”

Jim brushed the question off with a wave of a hand. “This is one of my most secure living spaces. Didn’t want to deal with the breakins that have happened at the others. So no, of course not.”

Oh my god, this was actually happening. Sebastian gritted his teeth, adjusted his grip on the gun. “Wrong,” he snapped.

Jim blinked. “Wrong?”

“Wrong, because _I’m_ going to fucking shoot you in the fucking head for waking me up for fucking tea at _two-fucking-thirty in the morning.”_

Jim lifted a hand to check his watch. “Two thirty-five,” he corrected, and Sebastian started toward him.

The gun clacked onto a side table as Sebastian tossed it down—he couldn’t actually shoot Jim, but he could damn well punch the snark right off his perfect face. Jim jumped up from his chair comically fast and scrambled around behind it. Darting forward, Sebastian made a grab at it, but Jim dodged around him. Keeping the chair between them, he circled toward the door, grinning wolfishly. “Oooooh, a little rowdy, are we, honey?” he cooed.

Sebastian glared back at him. “I said don’t call me that,” he growled.

“What’re you gonna do, chase me down a drainpipe?”

“You bastard.”

“Down, boy.”

Sebastian stomped toward him again and Jim shoved the chair. Right into Sebastian’s foot. What with his job, Sebastian would’ve thought stubbing his toe wouldn’t cause nearly as much pain for him as it currently did. Jim disappeared into the hallway within a second, a litany of shouted curses echoing behind him. High on anger and the strange, electric tension crackling between them, Sebastian stormed out after him.

He found Jim in the living room, heading straight for the portion of wall that led to a concealed room—a bomb shelter of sorts for if the place was ever under attack. He was actually going into a bomb shelter to get away from Sebastian, god.

Sebastian sped up, catching up to Jim just before he reached the wall. Of course Jim heard him coming and spun around to face him. He lurched back to avoid Sebastian’s first swing, coming within inches of a black eye. He ducked under the next, and this time a mad laugh broke free. It cut through Sebastian’s anger, flaring it up at the same time it sparked another, different emotion beneath. He advanced on Jim again, planting his hands on his shoulders and shoving him up against the fireplace.

Jim, damn him, was still laughing. Sebastian tried to glower at him. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he bit out. His voice came out a little wavered with growing amusement, but he couldn’t help it. “Who laughs when they’re about to get shot?”

“Y—you’re not gonna _shoooot_ me, Sebby,” Jim drawled out between giggles—holy shit, he was giggling. He only ever called Sebastian “Sebby” when he was feeling particularly sleep-deprived.

“You’re fucking crazy.” Sebastian was struggling to stay mad now. 

Biting his lower lip, Jim tried for a giddy smile. “I _know_ , right?”

And Sebastian couldn’t resist crumpling into laughter himself, falling into Jim and bracing a hand on the mantle behind him. Jim’s hand came up to Sebastian’s side as he hid his face in the curve of Sebastian’s shoulder, shaking with laughter. Sebastian’s heart fluttered. It was so precious to have nights like this, knowing that this was Jim Moriarty without any of the attachments of his name: no danger, no mania, no cracks of gunfire and explosions. Just Jim.

Suddenly feeling as though his heart would burst, Sebastian took Jim by the jaw and tipped his head up. Jim knew what he was doing at once and tilted his chin to meet Sebastian halfway. It wasn’t like their other kisses, the wild, heated ones up against alley walls or in the back of a car leaving a crime scene. It was slower, quieter, Jim’s teeth just grazing Sebastian’s lower lip. Sebastian hummed softly, shifting closer. He was sinking deeper and deeper. Jim’s hands were up in his hair, curling to pull at it and send pinpricks of addictive pain along Sebastian’s skull. Sebastian moved even closer, crowding him, taking up all his space. Their hips brushed together once and Jim let out a small noise, hooking a leg around Sebastian’s to keep him close.

Jim bit at Sebastian's bottom lip, letting a gasp of air open between their mouths. “Sebastian Moran,” he growled, breathless.

They didn’t say “I love you.” They said what they knew was theirs, claiming it.

Sebastian tugged Jim’s shirt from where it was tucked into his slacks, hand slipping beneath to splay across an old scar at his side. His skin burned. Jim arched into him. Sebastian broke from the kiss to drag his lips to Jim’s ear, biting down and breathing the words there. “James Moriarty.”

Nearly purring, Jim slung his arms around Sebastian’s shoulders, melting into him. He nuzzled into Sebastian’s neck. “Mm, insomnia’s a bitch, Seb,” he mumbled.

Sebastian ran a hand over Jim’s hair. “I figured that was why you were acting like one too,” he joked, and Jim punched him in the arm. Chuckling, Sebastian smoothed his hand up Jim’s spine to the back of his neck. He kneaded his fingers into the skin there and felt Jim sigh. “You really want me to buy you tea?”

“No.” Jim tipped his head back into the fingers massaging his neck, eyelids falling low.

“What’ll shut you up then?”

“Mmm, wanna sleep with my Tiger.”

“You know you regret that every time.” They had separate rooms at every house; Sebastian’s PTSD sometimes woke him up ready to fight and he’d hit or almost shot Jim about five times before they decided that sleeping in the same bed wasn’t the best option.

Jim gave a disappointed whimper and Sebastian could already feel his defenses falling. “Don’t care,” Jim muttered. Suddenly going limp, he let himself droop against Sebastian, who caught him up against himself. Jim settled his head atop Sebastian’s shoulder, evidently not taking any more arguments.“Carry me.”

Sighing, but knowing that he wouldn’t be able to say no, Sebastian looped his arms under Jim’s thighs and hefted him up. His legs hooked around Sebastian’s hips, grip tightening on the back of his neck to stay upright.

Sebastian had to pause to let the sensation of having Jim wrapped around him melt into his body.

_James Moriarty. Mine_.

Then Jim mumbled something impatiently and he could move again.


End file.
